A Beautiful Lie
by happinesstrap
Summary: Four girls have nothing in common except for one thing; the secrets that they hide. Strangers at their school, none of them have ever spoken to each other. That is, until they all start getting anonymous texts from the devious V. And when they discover a dead body, the are forced to unite. But watch yourself girls. I'm going to exploit every secret you bitches have ever had. - V
1. Chapter 1

**HEY Y'ALL! I am super-pumped about this new story that is inspired by my favorite TV show in the world, Pretty Little Liars. The plot is extremely different and the only concept from the show that I use is the whole anonymous person who sends them texts. And that they have a whole ton of secrets. I really hope you enjoy the story. There is definitely going to be Clace, Sizzy, Jaia and Heline in** **this story.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **(Based loosely off the PLL series)**

* * *

 **Chapter 1.**

 ** _It's hard to stand out in a town where everyone is special. It's where the flowers bloom just a little bit more, where the grass is just that much greener, and where the sky is a perfect periwinkle blue on a beautiful summer's day. The girls are all pretty and dolled-up, the boys in handsome suits with devilish grins. But four girls manage to be that much more special. Being individual is hard but they pull it off perfectly. And what sets them apart? Well, it's not that much different. Everyone has secrets but theirs is just bigger, uglier and so easy to obtain._**

 ** _Their lives may seem normal, but looks are ever so deceiving. Under each charming smile, perfect report card and a pretty face, there is a hideous secret that lingers underneath. And what a perfect pair; pretty girls who have ugly secrets. You can run, and you can try to hide, but the truth will always come out._**

 ** _And lucky for me, Isabelle, Maia, Clary and Aline make it all so much easier for me. Because I plan to exploit every secret these bitches have ever had. Enjoy your lives while you can, because if things go the way I plan, they won't be so perfect after I've messed with them._**

\- **_V_**

* * *

 **Isabelle**

Isabelle smoothed her perfectly-ironed skirt down with the palms of her hands. She looked down to see if the straps of her expensive Macy's sandals had come undone. Breathing out again, she wiped her slightly sweaty hands on her lacy button-up blazer. She tried remembered the calm, serene voice of her yoga teacher and attempted to listen to that for a minute. Instead, she raised her trembling hand to check the time on her gold Tiffany watch her father had gotten her in the seventh grade. Isabelle smiled wistfully, remembering how much easier everything was back then.

It was a time where Isabelle was her daddy's little girl. He adored her, constantly taking her out to lunch and showering her with gifts. He played soccer with Alec and Max, took Mayrse, Isabelle's mother, out to date night and always came home before five. He would have barbecues on Sundays with the whole family, always remembering to fry the onions in caramelized sauce just because Isabelle liked them that way.

But it was all very different now. He was always away at the office, he barely even smiled at Max, forgot Alec's age and had fights with Mayrse all the time. Last night had been one of their worst, shouting and screaming at each other until two in the morning. Max had crawled into her bed at midnight, tears forming in his big, blue eyes. She had held him the whole night, whispering soothing words in his ears. She too had felt like crying but instead pinched her palm and reminded herself that she didn't cry.

And the worst thing was, she couldn't tell anyone about this. She was the queen bee at her school, which had been her whole life, really. Ever since elementary school, people had immediately placed her as popular. Boys liked her, girls were jealous. She supposed was quite pretty, with her mother's long, silky black hair, bow-shaped red lips and her father's doe eyes. Graced with a tall slender frame and narrow hips, she could be the identical copy of a younger Mayrse.

Everybody just assumed her life was perfect, just like her appearance. Isabelle couldn't let anyone know what was going on, because it would make it real. She had to keep up a cool, sophisticated glamour of elegance and perfection. She couldn't let people know that her life was crumbling down in front of her very eyes. Being the perfectionist that she was, she liked her life like the way she liked her coffee; a simple, sweet latte with a grating of pumpkin-spice and a whip of whipping cream on top.

Despite that, she had to work on keeping her family together, and staying on top of the food chain. Even though it hadn't been very hard to get to the top, she was none too eager to lose her reputation. She was determined that everything stay the same in her life.

She felt like she was waiting on the sidewalk forever until a sleek, sliver Mercedes slid into the parking space before her. She smiled, snapping the door open and flinging herself in. She turned sideways to see her gorgeous boyfriend, Meliorn, grinning at her from behind black shades. She threw her arms around him, pressing her lips against his own. His mouth was cool as it moved with Isabelle's. His fingers traced the indentation of her hips, skimming up and down her sides. Isabelle's stomach fluttered, like it always did when she was near him. She gave him one last kiss before moving back.

She smiled brightly at him. "Hey, handsome."

Meliorn was definitely handsome, with his long, white-blonde hair that threw of the angles on his sharp face. He had alluring, green eyes that were flecked with gold and blue. He was in tip-top condition, being the captain of the soccer team. He was a few centimetres taller than Isabelle, which she was secretly pleased about. There were so many boys, excluding her brother Alec and his best friend, who were shorter than her. Meliorn and she had been going out for more than four months. Her friends had always gushed on and on about how cute they were together. Isabelle was expected to go out with him, as they were both on the same level of the social ladder, so when he asked her out, she felt obliged to say yes. But it didn't matter; Isabelle just loved him more and more each day.

"You look hot," he said, unashamedly checking her out. She sparkled at the compliment. Meliorn made her feel so good, that she almost forgot everything else.

"You too," she purred, stroking his hair. Today, his hair was slicked back with gel. He had on his soccer gear, which showed off how snugly it for against his chest.

He revved the engine, sliding onto the road in one swift motion. He switched on the radio, her favorite song blasting through the speakers. She nodded her head along to the song, feeling the heat start to slowly evaporate from her cheeks. She watched the grand town houses flit pass until they reached the suburban apartments and street houses.

"So, Malcolm's throwing a party this weekend," said Meliorn, his hand casually slung over the passenger seat. She loved how his fingers would brush against her shoulders every so often.

"Malcolm? You soccer friend?" Isabelle said. Her best friend Carrie had gone on and on about how much she liked this boy named Malcolm.

"Yeah, that's him." Isabelle was watching a little boy holding his father's hand in the park and smiled wistfully; she remembered when Robert had done that with Max.

"Yeah, sure," Isabelle said uncertainly. She didn't really feel like going to that party, but it was Meliorn asking; how could she say no? "I'd love to go."

"Yeah, cool babe." They had finally reached the car-park, swiftly gliding into a free parking space. Meliorn quickly grabbed his soccer bag, threw Isabelle the keys and gave her a kiss. She stared after him as he jumped out the car and wandered over to his friends. She sat there for a while, the keys still clutched in her hands, digging into her palm. Usually, she would have been annoyed at the way he had ran off, but today she let it go. He was really stressed lately with the pressure he had from his dad about soccer and grades. Besides, she knew he loved her and she loved him. Nothing would change that.

But, as she sat there, she couldn't help but think about her family. She scolded herself; her issues at home had to stay out of her school life. She folded down her rumpled skirt, breathing deeply. Smile! She thought to herself as she let herself out of the car. She strutted confidently over to Carrie, Naomi, Robyn and Kaelie. They were formed in a circle, which they immediately opened once they noticed Isabelle.

She had often felt like they were penguins, huddling in a circle during the winter like she had learnt in Biology. Except, with high school, the middle penguins never moved aside so the outer penguins could get a turn inside the center, where it was warm. Instead, they kept out the penguins on the outside and kept their circle heated and exclusive.

Carrie smiled at her, bumping her gently on the shoulder. "Love your shoes," she said. Isabelle smiled; Carrie had been her best friend since the fifth grade, when they had bonded over by the monkey-bars. They had been inseparable ever since.

"Guess who's throwing a party this Friday?" Isabelle said excitedly, directing this more to Carrie than anyone else. Kaelie was a good friend, but she would sleep with any boy in a ten mile radius. She would definitely be going to the party.

"Who?" Naomi asked, flicking her long auburn hair from her elfin face.

"Malcolm!" She squealed, grabbing Carrie's hands. Carrie laughed, jumping up and down with her. Carrie had had a crush on Malcolm since the eighth grade. She was a cheerleader, but had a depth in her that wasn't a fake or phony one. She was a real, genuine person that Isabelle could relate to as a human being.

"We should all go! It'll be so fun!" Kaelie said, straightening out her cropped shirt which showed off most of her midriff. Mr Callahan was going to bust her for that. But Kaelie rarely cared or listened. She had been told off by most teachers in the school for 'unacceptable skirt length' or 'inappropriate piercings'. Although, her belly piecing was pretty big; it latched onto her stomach like a twinkling diamond.

The bell suddenly rang out, a shrill unpleasant noise that rang in Isabelle's head a few times.

They headed inside, cluttering in on wedges and high-heels. As Isabelle flaunted into the building, she felt her muscles loosen and her nerves calm down. This is my kingdom, she thought happily, I'm in control here. It was here, in these familiar halls, that Isabelle felt safe and powerful. It was where she could escape, where she could run away from the struggles of her seemingly perfect life.

Kaelie, Naomi and Carrie flanked her, looking sophisticated and untouchable as they followed her down the hall. Their shoes clacked against the floor in a thundering manner, the slip-slap of high heels a comforting sound to Isabelle. Her thoughts returned to the party and she turned towards the other three.

"Meliorn can take us to Malcolm's," she said, slowing to a stop as she reached her locker. They crowded around it, each reaching for a phone, bag or purse.

"Yes! I love his car," Naomi said fondly. The girls all adored Meliorn's car, which had been a gift from his father for winning the Championships last year. They all clamored to ride it whenever they got the chance. Isabelle was just glad she got to ride in it every morning.

"I should invite Ryan," Kaelie said, twirling a strand of butter-blond hair around her finger.

"When are you going to dump him?" Naomi asked, rolling her eyes. "He's so annoying." Ryan was Kaelie's latest boyfriend, a lacrosse player. He followed her around constantly like a lost puppy, much to Naomi's displeasure. Isabelle found it sort of sweet how much he adored Kaelie but he was just another suitor in a line of endless boyfriends.

"He's cute," Kaelie mused, pursing her lips in the compact mirror. "And he's great in the sack."

They all made disgusted sounds. Isabelle grabbed her books and pencil case, all the while checking her reflection in the mirror. All good, she thought.

She squeezed Carrie's arm, hugged Kaelie and Naomi goodbye, then flounced off too class. She was feeling much better than she had in the morning, her skirt flowing around her long legs, her silky hair brushing against the small of her back. She was Isabelle Lightwood; confident, assured, popular and perfect.

What could go wrong?

* * *

 **Maia**

It was cold, the temperature frigid, glacial even. Maia glanced around her, eyes searching for any one she knew. But there wasn't a single soul around to witness her. And for that, she was thankful. She didn't want someone to see her going inside the Daylesford Correctional Facility. But, as she reaches the large iron fence, she could swear she felt someone watching her. She froze, her finger rested against the buzzer. Maia's head turned back slowly, searching for any indication of life. Once she was satisfied that no one was there, she pressed her finger down. A harsh buzz rang through the air, a noise at which Maia winced at. She quickly straightened up, before a crude voice belted from the speaker phone.

"Name?" The voice barked. Maia instantly recognised it as the strict Officer Perkins who ran the building.

"Maia Roberts," she said hoarsely, clearing her voice.

"Occupation?" It asked again.

"Student," she replied, more firmly now.

"And which prisoner are you here to visit?"

"Daniel," her voice caught at the sound of her brother's name. "Daniel Roberts." There was a pregnant pause.

"What's your relation to this person?"

"He's my brother," she said a little meekly. Once again, she looked around her surroundings. She was getting a little paranoid, she thought.

"Wait there. An officer will come to collect you shortly." There was a short buzz, then the sound of the other end was cut off completely. Maia sniffed at his rudeness. She drew in her hoodie, shivering in the cold. It was actually quite warm from where she came from, but out here in the outskirts of the country, it was freezing.

The sound of a door opening snapped her of out of her thoughts. Her eyes wandered until they found an officer, striding towards the gate. Her mouth almost dropped open, but she managed to keep it clamped shut.

He was handsome, definitely. He was tall and muscled in all the right places, lean and confident. He had an angled face that threw off the light as it shone weakly through the trees. Slanting cheekbones and full lips evened out the large, almond-shaped eyes that were framed by long, dark lashes. He had a military style buzz-cut, shorn almost to his scalp.

Wow.

He reached the gate, smiling widely at Maia. He swiped a card across an electronic pad. It buzzed, before sliding open. Maia remained on the other side, clutching the bag in her hand.

He grinned, putting out a tanned hand. It was scarred, with knobby, imperfect fingers. "Hi," he said in a buttery voice. "I'm Jordan Kyle. You must be Maia Roberts."

She nodded, before slowly extending out her arm and accepting his handshake. His hand was warm and hard, like leather. It was strong and firm and comforting. Maia felt slightly disappointed when she let go. He gestured for her to come inside, stepping out of the way so she could go in. The gate closed, the doors electronically sliding shut. They walked together towards the center building, the pavement below them an unfortunate concrete-grey. Maia kept her distance from Jordan. She didn't trust a lot of people, especially cops.

"Who are you visiting?" Jordan asked cheerfully, oblivious to Maia's discomfort.

She looked at him sideways. It really wasn't any of his business. "Family," she grunted finally, twisting the end of her shirt in her fingers.

"That's cool. I don't think enough people visit their families these days."

Maia felt her jaw tighten. He was a cop. What the hell did he care?

"You still in school, Maia?" He asked. She gritted her teeth, annoyed with his questions. She simply nodded her head again.

"Same. But I dropped out early to get into the Police Academy." Maia felt interest start to prod at her mind. But she pushed it away, hunching up her shoulders. Jordan looked like he wanted to continue their conversation, but they had thankfully reached the door. Jordan swiped his card against the pad once again and the swung open. Inside was a set of metal detectors and a pair of formidable-looking officers. There was a scanner for bags and an electronic wand that could detect all sorts of materials.

Maia knew the drill; she had been here so many times, it was hard to forget it. She removed her hulking coat, took her bag off her shoulder and stepped forward. One of the two officers moved forward, but Jordan waved them off. "I can handle it," he said. He sounded different than before when he had been alone with Maia. More formal, less enthusiastic.

Maia stuck out her arms, feeling foolish. Jordan patted her down, warm, strong hands making their way from her legs up. Even though they weren't actually touching her skin, she felt a million tingles travel through her body. Her breathing was shallow, her nerves screaming as his hands felt around her waist. She immediately suppressed any feelings that occurred; it was nothing. But when Jordan came up again, she thought she saw a slow blush spreading across his cheeks. Had she imagined that?

Another officer, that wasn't Jordan, escorted her to a plain room, with dark windows and a single table and two chairs that sat on either side. In one of those chairs sat Daniel, looking unhealthily pale in the fluorescent glow of the LED light above. Maia felt a great rush of sadness at the handcuffs that chained him, as well as the orange jumpsuit he wore. The officer took out a key and opened the door without a word. Walking inside, she slumped into the crook of the plastic seat. She tried to smile, but felt tears well up in her eyes.

Daniel looked concerned, pained. "Shh, it's okay. Please don't cry, Maia," he said. Maia sniffed, rubbing at her eyes with her hands.

Daniel looked like he wanted to do nothing more than to give her a hug, but the stern-looking cop who was watching them from the window made his decision for him. He reluctantly sat back, placing his cuffed hands on the table. Maia glared at them, feeling a little terrified but furious. Handcuffs used to be the object of fun in their house, playing cops as young kids. However, these handcuffs didn't look like the plastic ones that Daniel and Maia used. They gleamed terrifyingly in the light, smelling metallic.

"I hate this," Maia said angrily. "I hate it so much."

"I know, I know. But I promise, I'll get out of here one day, okay?" Daniel said softly.

"It's ridiculous! You didn't even do it," Maia hissed, rubbing at her temples with her fingers. The signs of a bad headache were coming along. She suddenly felt incredibly thirsty and wished she had drunken that water from before.

"I can't prove it," Daniel sighed. He looked so beaten-down and depressed, something that Maia had always hated. She missed the smile on his face, how his eyes would always light up.

"What did your lawyer say?" She asked, shuffling in a bit more.

"That it would be better if I confessed to being guilty. That if I said I was innocent, it would be even worse." Maia sighed, but had expected this. She had become an expert on law, having studied it vigorously for the last few months to try help Daniel's case.

"Your court hearing is soon," Maia said. "Hopefully, you'll be out by then." But despite the positive tone in her voice, they both knew it wasn't looking good.

"Let's talk about something else instead," Daniel said, forcing a smile. "How's school?"

"Good," Maia said, twisting her shirt in her hand. It was a nervous habit of hers. "Exams are soon."

"Are you scared?"

"Yeah," she said, shrugging. Frankly, school was the last thing on her mind right now. "And..." She said, hesitating. She was stepping into dangerous territory. "Have mom or dad...?"

Daniel looked miserable. "No," he said sadly. "Not since the day I got arrested." Maia was furious at her parents for dropping Daniel the moment he got arrested; she hadn't spoken to either of them since they decided to cut off their eldest son. Luckily, Daniel had had enough money saved up from his job to pay for a decent lawyer. However, he wasn't much help, just a scrawny, loud man who was just looking for a name for himself. He basically just sat there and looked at the pair of them with small, squinty eyes that had judgement and pity written all over them.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."

"That's okay, pooh-bear." Maia managed a weak smile. Pooh-bear had been Daniel's nickname for her as a child, Eeyore for him.

"'K, Eeyore." They smiled at each other briefly, before a sharp knock on the window interrupted them. Maia turned around to see the same officer outside. Her time with Daniel was up. She stood up and walked to the door, glancing behind to see a miserable-looking Daniel staring at his hands. Without looking back again, she left the room.

* * *

 **Loved it? Hated it? Review anyway! What happens with Maia's brother? What's up with Isabelle's dad? Clary and Aline will be in the next chapter!**

 **Until next time,**

 **-happinesstrap xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**A Beautiful Lie**

 **Hello! Yes, this story is based off PLL, as I have mentioned in the previous chapter. But, the story line is completely different from the actual plot. There's no Alison, but there are four girls.**

 **Enjoy! Please review!**

* * *

 **Clary**

Stretching her arms, Clary Fray sank into the soft, plush cushion of her sofa. Her best friend, Simon Lewis, sat next to her. She casually flung her legs over so they rested in his lap. However, he froze at the action and seemed to stop breathing. Clary frowned, feeling confused. She had done this a million times before, where they would curl up together at sleepovers or marathons.

"Si?" Clary asked, worried. "Are you okay?" Simon had been her best friend since they were in preschool. They had bonded over their mutual love for comic books and manga.

Simon looked troubled. "No, I'm not." Clary sat up, slowly removing her legs from his lap.

Clary sat up, ignoring the ache from her back. She had once again fell asleep on her desk, her charcoal pencils leaving black smudges on her face. "What? Why not?"

"I-I need to tell you something," he said quietly. Clary tilted her head, observing her friend from the side. Simon had big, brown eyes and a flop of matching hair. A pair of black-rimmed glasses hung on the edge of his long noise, his usual gamer tee rumpled.

"What?" Simon played with the hole in his shirt, looking slightly green.

"I...I love you." Those three words penetrate the atmosphere, hanging in the air like a threat. Clary gaped at her friend, who seemed so alien yet so familiar.

Clary laughed uneasily. What was this about? "I love you too, Si. You know that, right?"

"No, Clary," he said seriously, looking at her directly. She withered under his burning stare, unable to look away from the familiar brown eyes. "I'm in love with you."

An awkward silence settled between them. Clary held her breath, counting to ten. She felt like their whole friendship had gone off course on their usual, smooth roller coaster ride and was now teetering off the edge. Shock expanded in her chest, filling her lungs with bewilderment. Time seemed to freeze around them, even the old grandfather clock on the wall slowly to an abrupt stop. Clary could only stare at her best friend with wide eyes.

"You...what?" She breathed out, the pent-up oxygen filtering from her teeth.

He looked at her, with a blush on his face. He looked at her like he never had before. Or perhaps, Clary just hadn't noticed it. "Ever since we were six years old."

Clary ran her hands through her hair, exhaling. Ten years? For ten years of her life? No, this couldn't be real. She did love Simon, really she did, but like a sister loved her brother. She didn't love him in the way that he wanted her to. Guilt joined the adjourning war in her stomach, storming up against the shock that also writhed there.

"Simon...I-I don't know what to say," she said, suddenly feeling nervous. She couldn't tell him that she didn't want him that way, but he seemed to think the opposite. He leaned forward, eyes closing slightly. Clary froze, panicking. He wants to kiss me! She panicked in her head. He's going to kiss me! She couldn't do it, though, so at the last moment, when Simon was about a centimeter away, she unfroze, jumping back.

Simon looked up at her, hurt and confused. "What's wrong?" He asked, like she had ruined a perfect moment for him. In a way, she sort of had. He had probably been thinking about this moment for a long time.

"Simon," she said softly. "I'm so, so sorry but I don't love you in that way. You're like a brother to me and I'm sorry if I hurt you, but even if I tried, I don't think I could ever love you in the way that you want me to. I hate this, and I wish I could love you, like that, but I can't. I'm sorry, but I...I just can't." She covered her face with her hands and closed her eyes. She wished this was a dream, but common sense told her it wasn't.

"I see," said Simon, in a flat monotonous voice. Clary glanced upward through her fingers, stumbling back into the hard, mahogany chair that had been a gift from her grandmother.

"Simon..." She said desperately. "I'm sorry-"

"No. It's not your fault. I should have realized ages ago that it was never going to happen between us. I-I just thought, that in a messed up reality, we could be something else. But I realize now that we can't be." Clary sniffed, feeling insanely guilty at the crushed look on his face. I'm sorry Simon, she thought dazedly. The words wouldn't form in her mouth, as if the ability of speech had been ruptured.

"I should be going," he said stiffly, picking up his stuff. Clary watched him go, her heart heavy with every step he took. She wished she could tell him that she was sorry, that she did love him, but no words came out. Instead, she watched him leave and walk out the front door.

And most possibly, her life.

Clary had been huddled in the caverns of her blankets for the last two hours, blasting every sad song she had ever downloaded through her headphones. On repeat. In fact, she had listened to Adele so much that she started to feel her ears bleed. But she didn't care. If she lost Simon, she would happily lose her hearing to get him back again.

She had her mother's hand-knitted blanket wrapped around her body, the wool starting to itch. Her hair was a mess and she really needed a shower, but she was too miserable to move. It was starting to smell like a gym locker.

Her best friend was in love with her. It was like every cliché, ever, but in this version, the best friend didn't return the feelings of undying love or devotion. She sniffed loudly, pulling the blanket closer around her. Maybe, in another universe, she could love Simon, as more than a friend. But in this one, she knew it was impossible. She had spent the last thirty minutes trying to conjure up any romantic feelings she had for Simon, any emotions that she might have buried. But the longer she tried, the more she knew it wasn't right. It would be like kissing her brother, if she had one.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, she resurfaced. She peeked her head outside, blinking as the harsh light met her eyes. She had been in the dark for so long, it now felt like she had just come out of a cave. Clary rubbed at her eyes, before squinting at the time on the bedside table. 4:18, it read. Her mother should be home any time soon, she thought.

Jocelyn, Clary's mother, worked at the private arts school a few blocks away. It was really nice, but super expensive and it has really strict boundaries on what types of art were allowed to be explored. Clary loved art and like her mother, thought that it was something to be experimented with freely without any boarders. So, she went to the public school nearby which was still very nice. It still had a great art program and all her friends were fun and quirky.

Her father, Valentine, worked at the local bank. He had just gotten promoted to a higher rank, but still managed to come home early. Since Clary was an only child, she received the never-ending love of her parents. It was nice, but she sometimes wished she had a sibling. She had always wanted a big older brother or a younger sister to play with as a child. But she was still perfectly content with her funky family of three, who would hang up woolen stockings knit by Switzerland grannies instead of pillowcases for Christmas.

There was a soft knock at her door. It slowly opened to reveal her worn-looking mother, who had a paint-splattered Penn state shirt on, presumably from her college days. Valentine and Jocelyn had met at college, where they had fallen in love. Five years later, Clary had popped out. It was common knowledge that Valentine's mother strongly disproved of Jocelyn and didn't try to hide the fact that she hated her. Jocelyn didn't seem none too eager to hide her hatred of her mother-in-law either.

"Hey, sweetheart," she cooed softly, slipping in through the door. Her mother was beautiful, with long, crimson-red hair and large green eyes. Everyone had always said that Clary looked exactly like Jocelyn, but she thought the exact opposite. She considered herself to be a less-prettier version of Jocelyn. She frowned, noticing Clary's miserable expression.

"What's wrong?" She asked. Clary burrowed into her blankets again.

"Clary?" She said again. The side of the bed dipped as Jocelyn sat down, her weight, however light, creaking the old bed.

"Simon loves me," Clary's voice sounded tinny and muffled from underneath the covers.

Jocelyn laughed, as if revealed it wasn't drugs or pregnant. "I already know that he loves you, Clary."

"Noooo..." She wailed into her sheets. "Simon is in love with me."

There was a silence. "Oh," Jocelyn said.

"Yes," Clary said bitterly. "It was a very 'oh' moment."

"Well, I can't say that I didn't expect this."

Clary sat up. "What?" She spluttered.

"That boy has been in love with you for ten years, Clary. I have to say, you are quite blind to the love Simon has for you."

"Wait," Clary said, rubbing her forehead. "So my own mother knew that my best friend was in love with me?"

"It was quite obvious, dear." Clary huffed, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Great. Now my best friend hates me and he'll probably never even talk to me again."

Her mother smiled sadly. "Don't be so quick to judge your relationship with Simon. Sometimes, when the people in our lives love us in a way that we don't, it takes a while for things to mend themselves." Jocelyn gave Clary a warm hug. She smelled like home, with the familiar scent of cinnamon, paint and "It may seem like all is lost with Simon, but you two are closer than anything. I remember when Simon's mother and I spent hours looking for you when you slept over at Simon's, just because you didn't want to go home. Complications are in every friendship, and this sort of thing happens all the time." Clary noticed that her smile had suddenly become strained, her smile forced. Clary raised an eyebrow; was this from personal experience?

"Just remember, things aren't as bad as they look. Okay?" Jocelyn smiled warmly, patting her back.

"Thanks mom," Clary said. She felt much better after what her mother had told her. She was probably right; she and Simon had just hit a little bump on the road. Best friends forever, right?

* * *

 **Aline**

The itchy starch suit was beginning to irritate Aline; she felt the material start to chafe against her delicate skin. She hated it when her mother forced her to wear such fancy clothing. She would much rather wear shorts and a tank top, but her mother, Jia Penhallow, the elite socialite who was head of the PA committee and four-time winner of Best Home Decor, would most likely faint at the suggestion of jeans. She shifted discreetly in her seat, the plush cushions a little bit too comfortable. It was rather like sitting on top of a giant marshmallow.

"So, darling. How's everything at the firm?" Her mother cooed, directing her question towards Aline's father. You could practically hear the smugness in her tone, her raised voice in order to attract attention from the other guests at the restaurant. Oh yes, Aline could hear her mother sing, my husband is a lawyer. Isn't that fantastic? Her mother never did anything without a purpose, especially if she got something she wanted out of it. Jia had spent her whole life trying to prepare Aline to become...well, the carbon copy of herself. Jia's mother and her mother before her had done the exact same thing. But Aline didn't know what she wanted. The only thing that she was sure of; she didn't want to become her mother.

"Hmm? Yes, fine dear," Aline's impassive father said. He always sat so stiffly and formally, like he was a stone statue. He was wearing one of his many business suits, clad head-to-toe in expensive designer clothes. Aline's father worked in one of the best firms in the state, waking up early and always arriving late. The family of three were having their weekly dine-out, where one of them would choose a restaurant. It always to be some place classy and well-known within Jia's tight-knit group of wealthy friends and aristocrats. Whenever Aline suggested something like sushi or Thai, both of her parents would go both mysteriously deaf.

"And you, Aline?" Jia's dark eyes preyed on Aline, who was trying to clean up a slight spill of crumbs from the appetizer. "How's school?"

Aline swallowed. Her mother had on her usual look that made Aline feel tiny and insignificant, despite the fact that Aline was a good five or six feet. "It's good."

"I heard that the Annual Spring Dance is coming up." Crap. Aline had really hoped that she didn't have to go. But knowing her mother, Aline could safely bet that Jia had probably bought tickets before they were even out. She was about to protest, or make up an excuse, but Jia had started to talk about something she loved even more herself; the prospect of Aline's future husband. "Have you gotten a date yet?"

"I don't even know if I want to go-"

"Nonsense," Jia said, waving the question away with an airy hand, "I'll organize a date for you. I remember my first Dance. It was where I met your father, dear."

Her father smiled faintly, as if remembering. "Yes, of course. The Winter Formal, 1982." Her mother beamed at that, daintily wiping at her mouth with a napkin. Aline felt slightly queasy; the prospect of meeting her future husband was terrifying. She wasn't anything like her mother and she certainly didn't want to meet a boy she didn't love at her age. Especially if she knew that she would eventually be forced to marry him.

"We got married only a few years later," Jia beamed, placing a dainty hand on top of her husband's strong, broad one. Aline had a sudden vision of herself in a white wedding dress, a faceless man standing beside her. A chill ran down her spine. This was so not happening. But if her mom got her way, which she always did, it would most definitely be Aline's future. To find a rich, wealthy man with a social status that challenged her own.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she said suddenly, standing up. Neither parent looked at her, each too busy studying the leather-bound menus.

"I'll have to order for you," Jia sighed, as if it was the most troubling thing in her life. "How does the beef ravioli with the spinach ricotta sound?"

"Fine," Aline snapped. It's not like I get to decide anything in my life anyway, she thought bitterly, marching to the bathroom. The whole interior design was based off the Renaissance Era architecture; large, marble columns, arching doorways and velvet curtains. Large twining stairs led up to the second floor, which had a vintage tassel carpet that was imported from Italy.

It looked all so ridiculously expensive, even the guests. Gentle chatter and the bitter aroma of wine wafted across the room; the fresh smell of baking bread and olive oil tickled Aline's nose. Narrowly dodging a pair of two old wealthy-looking ladies, Aline ducked into the bathroom. The white-marble walls made her feel slightly dizzy, she stumbled into a bathroom stall and rubbed at her eyes, suddenly exhausted.

Aline's parents practically dominated her life. Every aspect of it was controlled by them, but it was really her mother who did most of the work. Stepping out of her booth, she walked numbly over to the sink. Sighing, Aline started to wash her hands, splashing a little on her face to calm her down. Truthfully, it was the whole marriage issue that was making her so nauseas. Jia had always planned her dates down to the detail, from the guy to where they were eating to what outfit she had to wear. Aline hadn't even had a proper boyfriend, which was one of the top things on Jia's to-do list.

Aline just wasn't attracted to the guys her mother set her up with. Sure, plenty of them were cute, but there was no real emotional spark or connection. They were all the same; textbook handsome, a socialite, wealthy parents, played some sort of sport. Jia had set her up on constant dates, usually at an over-expensive restaurant where all of Jia's friends would gawk and gossip at them from another table. Of course, Aline's mother was usually amongst them, glowing as they would gush on and on about how cute they were.

Aline rubbed her eyes, then stared at her reflection in the mirror. Jia would constantly tell her daughter that she was pretty but Aline didn't care. What was the point of being beautiful on the outside if you were hideous on the inside? Of course, her mother would just list that as nonsense, but despite her upbringing, Aline certainly didn't think so. She had exotic, distinctly Asian features with shoulder-length black hair and a pair of dark hazelnut-colored eyes. Her mother often said that it was a great blessing that Aline had gotten Jia's slim, slender body instead of her husband's mother's brutish build.

Often, Aline would stare at the mirror in her upstairs bedroom for hours, examining each detail with great care. Aline didn't fit in at home, with her picture-perfect family and their picture-perfect lives. Nor did she exactly fit in at school, where she was respected for her lifestyle but her lack of understanding in fashion and the latest gossip magazines wasn't looked past. She didn't know who she was, or where she fit in with the rest of the world. Would it be like that for the rest of her life?

* * *

 **-happinesstrap xx**


	3. Chapter 3

**A Beautiful Lie**

 **Hey y'all! Here's chapter 3. Sorry I've been absent for a while but I was on holiday. Which is really no excuse. Bleh. Please keep reading and enjoy. I promise I will get the next chapter of Life After Love up and running again. It just needs a few modifications. Thank you!**

 **Based loosely off the PLL series.**

 **Chapter 3.**

* * *

 **Isabelle**

Humming a soft tune in her head, Isabelle brushed her slanting cheekbones with a make-up brush. It was already Friday, the day of Malcolm's party. But she didn't feel any better with the weekend approaching. All she could hear in her head was the voices of her parent's, constantly arguing. They hadn't fought that much lately; however, the icy voices and slammed door weren't much of an improvement. Isabelle wasn't even sure if her father had come home at all last night.

Pushing the thoughts from her mind, she instead applied on some lipstick. To her, makeup was just a prop, just something for show. She wasn't even sure why she used it half the time; it stained her skin, blemished her pores, even stuck to her clothes. Rubbing her forehead, Isabelle inspected her reflection in her mirror. Round, dark eyes stared coolly back, frosted with mascara. A tight, red Calvin Klein dress was shimmied into a lithe, slender body, accentuating a tiny waist and a pair of long legs. She had let her hair out, long and wavy as it cascaded in carefully curled locks down her back. She looked good. She looked better than good, but she certainly didn't feel like it.

She heard the front door open, then close loudly from downstairs. Her heart leapt. _Daddy_ , she thought childishly. Isabelle shook her head; she had always been fiercely independent, never needing anyone. But there was that blind, unreasonable recognition that needed her dad. Wanted him close. "Welcome home," she heard Mayrse say curtly. There was a noise of a chair being pulled back; Isabelle winced as it scraped against the floor. She heard Robert mumble something back, unknown to Isabelle's ears. "You can sleep on the couch tonight," Mayrse's muffled voice snapped. "And take a shower. You look horrible." And with that, there was a slam of a door. Angry footsteps indicated her mother's location, coming up the stairs.

This house wasn't soundproof enough. You could hear everything through the paper-thin walls.

The door to Isabelle's room suddenly opened, presenting a tired-looking Mayrse. There were bags under her eyes, indicating a lack of sleep, and her hair (usually presentable and neat) stuck up in odd places. Despite this, Isabelle's mother managed a sleepy grin in her daughter's direction. "Hey, sweetheart," she said softly, leaning against the door frame. "You going out tonight?"

Mayrse often didn't mind her going to parties; as long as she didn't drink too much alcohol and didn't come back pregnant or something. In fact, when they went out shopping together every weekend or so, her mother would point out outfits she thought were cute or appropriate for parties. Even though she was a Daddy's girl, Isabelle loved her mother more than anything.

"Yeah. With Meliorn and Carrie," she said, trying to make her smile bright and preppy. But really, with the grey streaks that had never been there before in Mayrse's hair and the exhausted look on her mother's face, all Isabelle could feel was her heart breaking.

"Mm." That was all her mother said. "Well, be safe and don't drink too much. Make sure you're not driving home drunk, okay?"

Isabelle nodded, smoothing down her palms on her dress.

"Sure, mom." Mayrse smiled at her briefly, before walking out the door. Isabelle felt her perfect life start to fall down in pieces; however, she didn't think that miracle glue could put it back together.

But Isabelle still didn't cry.

A _bleep_ from her phone indicated the arrival of a text message; Isabelle picked it up, expecting it to be from Carrie or Malcolm. Even Kaelie, with the news of her breakup with Ryan, or Robyn with another hair crisis.

But no. It was a blocked number. Isabelle frowned, reading the message with narrowed eyes.

 _Aw, poor Iz! But don't worry, honey. A lot of divorced parents still live happily ever after with other people. Remember, you can always be replaced. Even by me._

 _\- V_

Isabelle felt ice run through her veins; she froze, her phone clutched in her hand. Fear and uncertainty trickled down her spine, goosebumps running up the length of her bare arms. She had never, EVER, told anyone about her parents, not even Carrie. But here she was, receiving a text from a complete stranger. She let out a long breath, air hissing from her teeth. An unfamiliar chord of panic and shame played in her chest; she swallowed, her fingers shaking as she set her phone down.

How could they have known? How could anyone have ever known? Isabelle kept her secrets like she kept all her test marks; in a secluded, faraway place that no one could ever know about. There was no logical or explainable reason for this. Not even Alec, her beloved brother, knew half of what was going on in life. She liked to edit the bad things, to trim and cut down the ugly branches of her life. She also told these lies in their edited version, cropping out as much as she could.

So who could have known about this? No one, if she thought about it rationally. Even though the interior walls were thin, the outside materials of the house were sturdy and strong, definitely soundproof. People couldn't just listen in whenever they wanted to, they would actually have to-

Isabelle let out a silent gasp. They would have to be in the house. But as soon as the thought came to her head, she dismissed it immediately. She was overreacting; seriously, who would go to all this trouble just so they could torment her? And, that text may not have been meant for her. Isabelle was a common name, and there were plenty of kids whose parents were fighting but then again-

No, Isabelle thought firmly. They must have sent it to the wrong number. Definitely the wrong number.

But, as she climbed down the stairs to find that her father was missing, once again, as she greeted Meliorn and Carrie and Robyn with a smile, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

...

Isabelle was bored; the party was turning out to be a total bust. But she kept this to herself as she danced with Robyn and Naomi, made her rounds around the party (to greet her other friends), watched loyally as Meliorn played pool with his friends and finally, smile at Carrie when Malcolm asked for a dance with her. Isabelle regretted wearing her four-inch heels, which began to feel like torture as she finally wobbled to a nearby chair. She sighed, massaging her temples as the party, throbbing and alive, pulsed on in front of her.

There was beer-pong, which Isabelle saw Robyn watching with keen eyes. Another boy, a year above Isabelle, chugged down a keg while other people cheered him on. He spluttered as it threatened to burst out of his mouth; Isabelle looked on, slightly amused yet disgusted. The dance floor was just a massive orgy; teens grinding up against teens, a few people even snogging shamelessly. Isabelle felt like she didn't even belong here, in the mass of people and sound.

And that stupid text. It pulled at her insides, gnawing at every part of her body. Isabelle tried to put it out of her mind, but she just couldn't.

She spotted Carrie, who looked amazing and glamorous in her Coco Chanel dress, dancing with a handsome-looking Malcolm. They had their arms around each other, Carrie giggling as Malcolm whispered something in her ear. Isabelle sighed, wishing that Meliorn would dance with her as well. But were was he?

Looking around, she saw a barely-dressed Kaelie pushed up against the wall as Ryan kissed her like there was no tomorrow. She averted her eyes, feeling embarrassed. Robyn was still playing beer pong and Naomi was nowhere to be seen. Squinting, she realized that she saw Jace, her older brother's best friend. He was dancing with a scantily dressed girl, a dozen more eyeing him up with a sort of lustful gaze. He met her eyes and winked. He was sort of like her older brother to her so she rolled her eyes, waving at him before the his partner reclaimed his attention again. Jace had always been a womanizer, which had constantly worried Isabelle. _He should settle down soon_ , she thought irritably. He deserved that much, to find someone.

Isabelle wanted to go home. But the alcohol that she had consumed earlier was making the room much louder and blurrier than it had to be. Meliorn was the one who had taken her there; so she would have to go ask him for a ride back. She pushed past people until she finally found Meliorn, who was sitting in a circle with a few girls and boys. Isabelle felt a flare of jealousy as one of the girls placed a hand on Meliorn's knee. She expected him to push it away, or at least ask her politely to take it off. But he didn't and Isabelle felt the green monster inside of her roar.

She wobbled over until she stood next to him. "Mel, I need a ride back," she said, loudly enough so he could hear. But he was absorbed in telling the people around him about his last soccer game, which included a stunning goal from himself. The girls laughed adoringly, all making googly eyes at him. Isabelle's fists clenched. _She_ was the one who had gotten up at six in the morning just so she could see him play.

She decided to try again. "Meliorn!" He heard her this time and stopped to face her.

"Yeah?" He said irritably, causing Isabelle to scowl.

"I need a ride back," she said, her face heating up as the other guys glared at her for interrupting him.

He sighed, running a hand through his gelled-up hair. "Why can't Kaelie or Naomi take you back?"

"Kaelie's with Ryan and I can't find Naomi." Isabelle felt anger course through her body. He was her boyfriend, wasn't he?

"Babe, I'm really busy." He turned around to face the group of people. "Sorry about that. Anyways, I had the ball-"

"Mel," she interrupted, suddenly feeling furious. "We've all heard your stupid story about your soccer game, okay? We were all there!" She stomped away, tears of anger welling up in her eyes. She practically ran for the front door, kicking off her stupid shoes as the cold air welcomed her in a cool embrace. She sniffed, trying to find any string of control she could dictate. She hated that feeling. She hated losing control of herself, of her emotions, of her life.

She walked down the footpath, ignoring the pain as small rocks and twigs buried into her foot. She half-expected Meliorn to run after her, to apologize for being a douche. But there was no sign of anyone leaving the house as she glanced behind. He was probably back at the house, recounting his amazing goal to everyone. Disappointment swelled in her chest; she was used to being comforted when upset, or looked after when she wasn't new feeling of neglect was unfamiliar and bitter as it sat in her chest.

It was well after dark, the streetlights blinking as she walked past them, bare-footed. Malcolm's family was amazingly well-off and could afford to live in the fancy areas of the town. However, she was hopelessly lost, wandering through the streets like a lost puppy.

She was so lost in thought that she notice the boy that stepped him front of her. She bumped into him, stepping back. "Sorry," she muttered, not in the mood for talking.

"That's okay," he said kindly. She looked up to see a brown-headed boy with dark brown eyes and glasses. He was just an inch or so taller than her. "Sorry for being in the way."

He was the nicest person she had met so far. "Yeah, me too."

He looked more closely at her. Isabelle studied him with the same intensity. Sure, he was cute but she had dated sexy and handsome soccer boys, pretty college guys. "Are you okay?" He asked, shifting his glasses so they hung higher up his nose.

She forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm-" she stopped short. She didn't feel like lying, not tonight. "No, actually," she said sadly. "I'm not."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Isabelle contemplated this. Vent out her feelings to a complete stranger or just walk away? She didn't choose the latter. Instead, she sat down on the bench and watched as he joined her. She didn't know what came over her and she wasn't sure if she actually liked it or not. It was strange and unfamiliar...and unsettling?

They sat there for a while, enjoying the sound of the silent night that was only disturbed by the chirping of the crickets and the slight beat of the music from the party far away. "Sorry about that," Isabelle said suddenly. The boy frowned, tilting his head.

"What are you sorry for?" He asked, but she could instantly tell that he was nervous. He looked kind of geeky, in a cute sort of way. Had he even been around a girl before? Of course, Isabelle was very aware of the way she looked; in fact, it was a form of a weapon. She could wield it whenever she pleased, but she didn't feel like it tonight.

"The party. It must be really loud for everyone who lives here." Isabelle had never taken this into consideration before, but she did now.

"It's okay. I'm sort of used to it." He smiled faintly at her. Isabelle felt something else stir inside her, a feeling of warmth. "So, what's up?"

Isabelle was silent for a minute, trying to decide on an answer. "I'm just so sick of everything right now." She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Everything is different than before and I HATE different. Why can't everything just stay the same?"

She glared at the rosebush in front of her. A pretty, exotic-looking butterfly landed on one of the growing rosebuds.

"Things change for a reason," the boy said calmly. "Moving on is just a natural process in life; it's unexpected but it happens. Sure, it's new and scary but sometimes change can be a good thing."

Isabelle looked at him warily. "Really?" She said, smiling slightly.

He laughed. "Yeah, really." But there was something that suggested that he was upset; his eyes were slightly distant and rimmed with red.

"What about you?" Isabelle asked quietly. He looked at her, sideways. "Are you okay?"

He laughed, a bit bitterly. "My best friend rejected me today." Isabelle winced; it felt hurt to be rejected.

"Sorry," she said, watching him carefully.

"Yeah. It hurts, you know? I've loved her forever and she didn't even know it." Isabelle felt a sudden rush of anger at the girl. How could anyone hurt such a sweet guy?

"Well, she's an idiot if she doesn't realize what a great guy you are." He smiled, a sort of a remembering smile, a little bittersweet. They sat there in another comfortable silence, Isabelle was pretty sure that she looked like a mess, with her windblown hair and smudged eyes, but at that moment she didn't care what anyone else thought. It was just her tonight, and the nice stranger who had been kind enough to listen to what she had to say. And what he had said about change; it made sense, coming from him.

"Well, I better get home," Isabelle said, standing up. The world still felt a bit unstable, blurry in her eyes. She looked out wistfully to the streets that stretched out for miles; walking home would be such a pain.

"Can I give you a lift?" He offered, blinking as his eyes met the streetlights. A sudden burst of affection run through her heart. Her own boyfriend couldn't be bothered to even talk to her nicely, but here was a random stranger, offering just because.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," he smiled shyly. "What kind of person would I be if I let you walk home?" Isabelle tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, blushing slightly before reminding herself that _she didn't blush._ He stood up, before Isabelle remembered something.

"What's your name?" She asked him, grinning. Her night wasn't so bad after all.

"Simon. Simon Lewis."

* * *

 **Maia**

Gritting her teeth, Maia had to conjure up all of the self-restraint that she had, so as to not punch the ridiculous man in front of her. She wasn't even sure _why_ her brother would choose him as a lawyer, but she did suppose that he was the best in town. All of the other lawyers had refused his case.

Samuel Ridgestein was a small, pudgy man with a nasally voice that made Maia's teeth grit. She loathed him, but he was the best option. So if it meant getting her brother out of prison, Maia was more than ready to restrain herself from injuring him. Daniel was forever patient with him and was always able to deal with his vulgar attitude. Maia suspected that Samuel had a bit of a soft spot for Daniel, but who wouldn't?

Daniel had always been charming, irresistible to most adults. Of course, Maia would always look like a dead log next to him. There was just no matching up to Daniel. Up until he was arrested, he had always been their parent's favorite.

"Daniel," Samuel sighed, shuffling his papers. "This isn't looking good. Not good at all."

Daniel sat next to Maia, who sat opposite from Samuel. He looked better than before, with his face just freshly shaven and his usually long hair cut short. However, purple bags hung under his eyes like bruises. There was a stern-looking guard who was supervising the visit. Maia was surprised that she was, well, hopeful to see Jordon again. But as soon as the thought came, she quickly squashed it. There was no point in having a crush; it would lead to nowhere.

"I say this because there were no witnesses." Maia made a noise but Samuel quickly made to interrupt. "Maia, that is not including you. Pleading for Daniel's case as a witness will do no good because you are family. The court will simply think that you are just a desperate little sister trying to save her brother."

"This is unfair!" Maia huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "The court are obliged to listen to what I have to say."

Samuel shook his head. The lights reflected off his bald head, making it look shiny and round. "Even if you were there that night, there is no possible way to prove it. All of the camera were destroyed in the fire."

It was looking very, very bad. Maia swallowed, rubbing her arm. The room was suddenly very cold and she was resentful for the lack of heating in the room.

"What is the other options?" Daniel, who had been silent up until now, asked.

The two siblings looked at Samuel, who looked nervous all of a sudden. He cleared his throat, sweat gathering at his temples. He clasped his pudgy hands together, his fancy suit bulging as he leaned forward. "Daniel...you could plead guilty."

Maia knew that this was ultimately an option, but she refused to take it. "Plead guilty?" She stared at him. "Are you mad?"

He put out his hands. "Hear me out, Maia. The court may be lenient if they think that the fire was an accident."

"He didn't even start the fire!" Maia growled.

Samuel nodded his head. "Yes, I know that's what you think but Maia, the evidence is there. Daniel was found at the scene of the crime with a lighter in his hand and a bottle of gasoline in the other."

"It wasn't me," Daniel said quietly. "I was framed."

Samuel let out a nasty, short laugh. "Son, if everyone in the history of crime pleaded to being framed, then there would be no prisons." They just sat in that awful silence, Samuel reading through his papers, Maia staring hard at the wall and Daniel looking down at his cuffed hands. Then, out of nowhere, there was a short buzz that sounded from Maia's pocket. Her phone. She pulled it out, wondering who could possibly be sending her a text. It wasn't like she had many friends at her school or anything. Her phone was ancient, tiny and has a slight crack in the screen.

She had to squint to read the message. _Hmm..._ she thought. Blocked number.

 _There's a rotten egg in every family. Guess your parents got two! Murderers deserve to go to jail, even if their kid sister sings innocent. Careful, Maia. There's always room for one more in a prison_. _And I can bet your brother will be there soon enough._

 _\- Kisses, V_

Every nerve in Maia's body screamed, the feeling of paralysis traveling through her veins. The blood drained from her face and Maia could only stare at her phone in shock, her fingers shaking slightly. WHAT THE HELL? Maia frantically checked the number again, but it was blocked. She swallowed down a rising scream.

Somebody knew.

Somebody knew about her brother's case. No one had linked her brother's 'accident' to her yet, and she was determined to keep it that way. But, here she was, with a text that confirmed her worse fears. Somebody knew. But the problem was, Maia didn't know who. She was silent at school, always skulking around in the shadows, keeping away from everyone. There was no way...

"Maia?" Daniel asked, sounding worried. She looked up to meet his eyes, concerned and familiar. "Are you okay?"

Maia turned off her phone, tucking it away into her pocket. She smiled at him."Yeah," she lied. "I'm fine."

* * *

 **Ehh...**

 **Please review!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**A Beautiful Lie  
**

 **HELLO EVERY ONE! I can't believe that this is my second update in the course of three days! I'm really buzzed about this story.**

 **Guess what? Helen is in this chapter. Yes, in this story Aline and Helen are together.**

 **The last chapter had texts from V, and so will this one. I plan on them meeting each other very soon.**

 ***laughs evilly**

 **Please read on and enjoy the story!**

 **And review!**

* * *

 **Chapter 4.**

 **Clary**

"Ooh, Valentine, did you hear?" Jocelyn beamed at her husband, settling her hand over his own. She looked sleepy but happy in her evening wear, a pencil threaded through her red hair. "Clary's teacher recommended her to enter the local Art College Competition." Clary's teacher, Ms Jerry, had suggested that she enter one of her art pieces in the contest; however, Clary wasn't too sure.

Clary rolled her eyes, shifting her food around on her plate. "Mom, dozens of people enter the competition. I doubt I'll even get through the first round." That was true enough; the best artists in town would be competing for it and Clary was barely even at the peak of her art career. She had interned with Phillip Davies, the slightly crazy sculptor/painter who lived closely, and even applied for the New York Institute of Arts.

Even though New York was a million miles away, it was her dream college. She loved her tiny town, but the city was glamorous and seemed to breathe, as if it were alive.

"There's no harm in trying," Valentine said serenely. He gave her his usual smile, before entwining his fingers with her mother's. A large, masculine hand over a slender one. "And we'll always be proud of you, no matter what."

Clary smiled; her parents always knew what to say.

Jocelyn nodded in agreement. "Of course."

The three of them were seated at their small, family-sized table. Clary wasn't feeling hungry; even her mother's amazing cheese and spinach ricotta wasn't enough to make her eat. In fact, she hadn't been eating much for the last few days.

Simon still wasn't speaking to her. It had been three days, and there was still no sign of a call, text or any indication that he would ever talk to her again.

Well, who could hardly blame him? She had broken his heart. She stared down at her meal, the amazing smell of baked feta flooding wafting up her nose.

There was the logical part of Clary's brain that told her it wasn't her fault. Simon had never even uttered a word about his feelings for her. How could she have known? They had grown up as best friends, her feelings for him loving but sisterly. Being with Simon was like being with a brother, or a cousin. He was practically family.

But then, of course, there was that part that unreasonable, illogical. That made her feel guilty, insanely so. Her mother had talked to her about it, reassuring Clary that it was _not her fault._

Her fault.

All her fault.

"Clary?" She looked up to meet Jocelyn's worried green eyes. "Why aren't you hungry?"

"Oh." Clary felt her face heat up. Even though she had told her mother about Simon, she didn't feel like explaining the situation to Valentine. "I already ate before." She gave her mother an apologetic grin.

"That's fine, dear," she said distractedly. "Just remember to let me know next time, okay?"

"Sure mom," Clary nodded. They continued to eat in silence, before Valentine turned to his wife.

"Dear," Valentine said to her, almost nervously. "My mother called." Jocelyn froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. "She's going to be joining us for Easter dinner."

Jocelyn stared at her husband. "She's eating with us?" Her voice was deadly. Clary snickered.

"Jocelyn-" Valentine pleaded.

"Valentine, you said she was only eating with us twice a year! Christmas and Thanksgiving!" She snarled. Jocelyn detested her mother-in-law. Last year, they had fought over the proper ways to cook a potato.

Clary sighed, listening to the Jocelyn's shrill voice, Valentine pleading to get along with his mother.

...

Clary was just finishing off her homework when she heard a noise outside her house. Her bedroom was on the second floor, purposely situated away from her parent's. She had heard _noises_ one night and demanded that they move to the first floor.

Pulling out an earbud, she quickly hurried over to the window. It was dark now, the silver moon bright and luminous amidst the dark encompass of the sky. She squinted, trying to make out anything.

Nothing.

Perhaps she had just imagined it, or it was the neighbor's cat again.

But then -so quick that she almost didn't notice it- a flash of silver. She leaned forward, so that her nose almost touched the glass. Her eyes widened as she spotted a figure, almost impossible to make out in the darkness, come down the gateway to her backyard.

Panic rose in her chest; who was it? An intruder? Thinking she should call for her mother, she stepped back but it was then that a streak of moonlight slashed across his face.

Clary froze, holding her breath.

It was her father.

Valentine stood in the shadows, looking nervous which, by itself, was an impossibility. Her father was never nervous. But he certainly looked like it now, with wrung hands and a lined forehead.

What was he doing out there? Clary wondered, resting her forearms on the window frame. This wasn't her father. Her collected, calm father.

He stood there for a few minutes, the same panicked expression still on his face. Clary eventually got bored; it was probably a work problem, or even a family issue.

Clary was just about ready to leave -it was late, and she felt tired. But, as if it were a sign, another person walked in through the gate.

Clary felt any tiredness flood out of her system; she was watching the mysterious person with rapt attention, trying to make out facial features, anything. But they were wearing dark clothes, a hoodie slung over their faces.

Breathing shallowly, she watched them approach her father. Soon enough, moonlight pooled onto their body. It was a boy, not that much older than her. Seventeen, eighteen years old perhaps.

Other than that, she saw nothing. Only the back of him.

Her father looked at the boy with absolute panic, his eyes wide and disbelieving, his eyebrows furrowed.

Her father said something to him, but Clary, obviously, couldn't hear. She didn't dare try open the window in case she made a sound.

The boy must have said something back, because Valentine was shaking his head frantically. He snapped at the boy, who's fists were clenched. Their conversation was getting seriously intense.

Clary looked on, scared that they would start fighting. Her father was big, strong and had the build of a fit lumberjack. But the boy looked like he lifted weights in his spare time.

They were arguing now, Valentine using his hands to emphasize the point. The boy looked mad, his hands shaking and his breathing hard. He must have shouted, because Clary could make out a few mangled words. They were muffled, but certainly angry.

 _'Why...deserve...you...looked...!'_

Valentine looked terrified at his raised voice. He put his hands out, trying to quieten him. Her father looked worriedly at the house, glancing quickly as if to make sure no one was listening.

Clary ducked as his eyes reached her bedroom. Even though she knew that he wouldn't be able to see her, she felt his gaze burn through the walls. Her knees felt weak; she pressed herself even harder against the wall. Seconds passed, yet she still hid.

Slowly standing up, she peeked cautiously over the windowsill. They were both gone. She huffed out, resting her head against the wall. Typical.

Her mind was brimming with unanswered questions; who was that boy? Why did her father look so nervous? And why did Valentine speak to the boy as if he were...familiar, with him? Valentine regarded him with a sort of familiarity. It was strange. Her father usually took ages to warm up to someone.

Before she could even move, a short _bleep_ sounded from her desk. Her phone.

Her heart skittered; could it be Simon? She ran over to her desk, hope igniting in her chest. But as soon as she read the number (blocked) her face fell.

Not from Simon.

Her eyes narrowed, her nose scrunching up in confusion. A blocked number?

 _There once was a family, as happy as could be, but Papa screwed up and lost his Bumble Bee. Your Daddy should know better; someone's always listening, C. You can BET that I am._

 _\- V_

Clary sucked in a breath. Bumble Bee was her dad's nickname for her. But how could anyone have known that?

She suddenly felt like a pair of eyes were on her; her eyes darted around the room. Her sanctuary, her room, felt invaded, like someone had been looking through all of her personal things. Her privacy felt infiltrated.

And who was V? Clary stared at the letter. What did they mean, she would lose her dad? Did they know who that person was?

She had been spying on her dad tonight, that was for sure. But now it seemed, someone else was too.

* * *

 **Aline  
**

"Aline, darling," her mother purred, stalking around her, head held high. "That dress looks simply _amazing_."

Aline's muscles ached; she had been standing in this position for far too long. She felt foolish, with her arms stuck out like a scarecrow and her neck craned forwards.

They were at the Dressmaker's Boutique, a fancy shop that Jia adored. Aline was getting a dress fitted for the Annual Spring Ball, which her mother simply insisted that she had to go to. It was a few weeks away, but she still hadn't gotten a date.

It was something that Jia was not very happy about.

Aline had heard her calling her friends at night, asking for any eligible bachelors. Needless to say, Aline was not pleased with her mother.

The dress was nice enough, she supposed. It was one of Marc Jacob's designs, a sea-foam colored empire-waist dress. Aqua-blue ruffles cascaded from the waist down, spiraling out until the reached her feet. It had a sweetheart neckline, and two silk straps.

"Hmm..." Jia looked at the dress closely, swooping around it like a large prey of bird. "Tighten the waistline," she ordered Pierre. Pierre was a tiny French man who had apparently worked for Christian Dior. He was a close family friend, and basically an uncle to her.

"Mom!" Aline protested, itching her nose. Her back was aching and her arms felt like limp spaghetti. "It's tight enough!"

"Nonsense," she waved her hand. Pierre danced to her side, carefully weaving a pin through the material.

"Mom, I'm tired. Can we go home please?" Aline asked Jia.

"Darling, you must look perfect for the Spring Ball!" Jia trilled.

"Do you have a date yet, cherre?" Pierre asked her. He barely came up to her shoulders.

Aline bit her lip, avoiding her mother's gaze. "No, not yet."

"I know a wonderful boy," he said to her in his low French accent. "Wealthy, a gentleman," he raised his eyebrows. "And very handsome, too."

"No, no," Aline protested, but Jia's head perked up. "It's fine, really-"

"Who is he?" Jia demanded.

Pierre smiled, as if he knew that she would ask. "Mark Blackthorn. Parents are divorced, but the father is extremely wealthy."

Jia stared at him with gleaming eyes.

 _Damn you, Pierre._

"Mom, no," Aline pleaded. "Mom, please, no-"

"His number!"

Aline groaned as her mother buzzed around Pierre, who simply smirked at her. She glared at him, letting her arms drop.

 _God help me_ , she thought.

...

Aline waited outside for her mother as she finished off paying for her dress. She was tired and irritable; the fact that she was actually going to the Annual Spring Ball was enough to make her cranky. But the fact that she had to go with a complete stranger was enough to make her scream.

Aline winced as she stretched out her arms; every bone in her body felt splintered. Of course, as a child, Aline had been forced to attend in pageants. However, when she was nine she finally put her foot down.

It devastated her mother to no end.

She would have thought she would have gotten used to it, but getting a dress adjusted was painful.

A sudden noise from the other side of the street attracted her attention; a girl had dropped a box and it's contents spilled across the street. No one stopped to help her.

Aline walked over, dropping to her knees to help her pick up the dropped objects. The girl looked up and smiled. She was very pretty, Aline thought. She had long white-blonde hair, green-blue eyes, a slender frame and pale skin. "Thanks...?" She asked, still smiling.

"Aline," Aline said, loading the food back into the box.

"Nice to meet you, Aline. I'm Helen." _Helen,_ Aline mused. It was a nice nice name. Aline noticed that most of the objects were foods; a tin of instant spaghetti, baked beans, even some fruit salads packed into containers.

She picked up a can of preserved peaches. "What do you need these for?" She asked. All of the foods from the box were either fresh, canned or preservable.

"We're handing out food to homeless people," she explained, head titling to one side. Her hair was pin straight.

"Wow," Aline grinned. Her mother, oblivious to the struggles of lower classes, didn't even care about stuff like this. But Aline knew that it was an amazing thing that Helen was doing. "That's awesome."

"Yeah, we're also having a food drive this weekend." She looked at Aline carefully, before grinning at her. Aline's heart did a few jumping jacks. "You should come down if you're interested."

That actually sounded like a good idea.

"Yeah, that sounds great," she smiled.

Helen laughed, looking excited. "Okay, lemme just write my number down." She suddenly grabbed Aline's wrist, making her jerk backwards; what was she doing?

Helen pulled out a black marker from her pocket and using her teeth, pulled off the cap of it. Aline had to admit she looked very bad ass doing that. But, living with her parents, she supposed that anything that wasn't familiar to her was bad ass.

Helen scribbled down a phone number. Her script was messy yet elegant. Helen's fingers were warm against Aline's skin; it felt nice. Aline stared at her arm in amazement. The marker felt like venom; her mother had always wiped her down with anti-bacterial wipes even if she had gotten just a pencil smudge.

But it felt sort of nice as well.

"I'll send you the information about the drive," Helen gave her a devilish grin. "Give me a call, 'kay?"

Aline's pulse stopped. "Yeah," she said breathlessly. "Yeah, okay."

"Cool," she winked. "See you around, Aline." She picked up her box and continued down the street. Aline couldn't stop staring at her.

"Darling!" Her mother's voice reached her ears. She turned around to see her running towards Aline. "The dress is going to be ready by next week! And we've found you a date!"

Oh yeah.

 _Mark Blackthorn._

"Aline?" She asked, frowning. "What's that on your arm?"

"Huh?" Aline jumped. She suddenly remembered the number scribbled on the inside of her wrist.

She pulled down her sleeve. "Nothing," she lied. "Nothing at all."

...

Later, in the privacy of her room, Aline looked at her arm. The number was still there, written on her wrist. Aline got out her phone, typing in her number. She hesitated, contemplating whether or not to call Helen.

 _"Give me a call, 'kay?"  
_

She smiled. But before she could even type out a letter, her phone vibrated in her hands.

A text message. She tapped on it. Hmm...blocked number.

 _Your parents may seem perfect, but everyone has their secrets. Even perfect little daughters. And trust me Aline, I intend to find out yours._

 _\- V_

Secrets? She stared at her phone. What possible secrets could her mother and father have? They were the typical example of perfect, wealthy parents.

And find out her secrets? She didn't have any worthwhile ones.

Or, at least, she thought so.

* * *

 **Yes! Helen has arrived! I was thinking that Helen would a bit like Maya from PLL. Who was Clary's father speaking to? What does Jocelyn have against her mother-in-law? Will Clary and Simon ever make up? Will I go outside and do some exercise?**

 **Please keep reading! I've updated Life After Love if you are interested in that.**

 **See you guys soon!**

 **Please review!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


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